


Portraits of an Evenstar

by Elelome (amyfortuna)



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-01
Updated: 2001-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/Elelome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets about the life of Arwen Evenstar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Believe

Arwen whispered a few words to a late flower still blooming in the evening. She left it still attached to the stem, unwilling to break its brief life with a sudden snapping.

Her fingers moved over the grasses, startling them into a brighter green. The trees bent their leaves in the wind to caress her face. And the wind picked her dress up in a coy invitation to a wild dance.

Arwen laughed.

"Yes, mother, I believe it now!" she said to the quiet figure standing in the shadows. "This is all alive, and we are part of it."

She seized her mother's hands, whirling her about, both of them laughing. For a moment there was only Nature in that nightlit patch of woodland, only two ancient Elvish folk on a midnight revel.


	2. A Night For Dancing

Arwen lifted her long skirt to step carefully over a dead log. This marked the boundary of Rivendell's north side; people came here who wished for most quiet, or conversely, who did not wish to be seen.

Now she was free! Free for a few moments, to escape the chains of hostess and mistress of the house. Here she could sing and dance, and laugh aloud to her heart's content.

But tonight was a night for dancing. For a moment she wished for a flutist, like Luthien's Daeron, but dismissed that idea as impossible - her father did not really approve of her midnight dances.

Arwen hurried through the woods, searching for her glade.

And she leapt out into the middle of the circle, feet flying in sure custom, taught every step by her laughing mother. The moon was her only observer, the stars winked at her as if to say, "I'll keep your secret."

Laughing hours went by this way. At last Arwen collapsed to the ground, still smiling.


	3. Climbing Trees

Arwen caught hold of a low hanging branch and swung herself up into the golden-leaved tree. Deliberately, she climbed up as far as she could go, until the slender branches would no longer hold the weight of even a fifty-year-old elven girl.

Dark hair streaming back into the wind, she looked out over the land, pretending for a moment that she was Luthien imprisoned in Hirilorn, plotting to get away to her lover. Leaves spun in the breeze, some twisting loose from their tenous perch on the branches, flying down to the ground, lazily.

A voice called out to her suddenly, and she laid a hand on the branch to steady herself before looking down.

"Sister! You're too old to climb trees!" the laughing voice of Elladan greeted her.

"Am not!" she shouted back down at him.

"Are too!" he said, and he was suddenly swinging up the branches to her perch.

"Playing at being Luthien again, sister?" he asked, running a hand over his sweaty brow.

"Yes, a little," she said. "What have you been doing today?"

"Receiving messages," he said. "The Eagles told us today that Galadriel is coming to Rivendell to visit Mother and us!"

Arwen clapped her hands together, eagerly. "What fun!"

Then she began climbing back down the tree.

"What are you doing?" Elladan asked, bemused, watching her.

"We've got so much to do," she said. "Let's go!"

"Arwen, they won't be here for another four weeks..."

"And that's about how long it's going to take me to clean my room," Arwen said, laughing. "Come on!"


	4. Memories of Daeron

"Father, what happened to Daeron?" Arwen asked, one quiet evening on the Porch. Elrond turned to her, the smile on his face changing to soberness.

"He was Luthien's lover before Beren, you know."

Arwen nodded. "And he betrayed her to Thingol, didn't he? But he was the greatest flutist ever. I want to know where he went, did he ever marry...?"

"I don't think he ever did marry, and if he did, the rumors have not yet reached Rivendell," Celebrian chimed in, shaking her silver hair. "Mother saw him many times long ago, before even I was born, and she said to me that he was very beautiful, and loved Luthien deeply."

"All I've heard regarding Daeron is that he left Menegroth after Luthien disappeared, and went down to the Sea. From there, no one is sure, but they think he went Oversea," Elrond said.

"How sad." Arwen sat quietly contemplating this for a moment. "So when I go Oversea, I will see him?"

Celebrian and Elrond exchanged a swift look. "Yes, daughter, if you go Oversea, you may see him," Celebrian said.

"But that's many years away, Evenstar," Elrond said, "and right now it's time for young girls to take their rest."

Arwen pouted for a second. "Not yet, let me stay up another little while," she said. "Elrohir and Elladan get to."

"When you're a hundred and twenty like they are, you'll get to stay up as much as you want to," Celebrian said, standing up. "Come with me, Arwen, and I'll tell you part of the story of Daeron, all right?"

Arwen stood reluctantly, and took her mother's hand, looking regretfully at the merry-making in the meadow.


	5. Meeting

"And who might you be, young one?" the tall handsome Elf said, sweeping his dark hair away from his brow. Arwen took his hand with the accustomed ease of a practiced hostess.

"Arwen Evenstar, and it's a pleasure to meet you," she answered. His eyes went wide.

"Lady Arwen, daughter of the house!" he exclaimed. He lifted her hand to his lips in a graceful gesture. "My apologies...I did not recognize you."

She nodded. "It's no matter. And your name might be...?"

"My friends - of whom may I count you one? - call me Daz," he said.

She smiled. "Appropriately enough."

"But my right name is Deran of the House of Thranduil, sister-son to the Woodland Lord. My home was there in Greenwood, but now that I see the beauty here in Rivendell, I may make my decision to delay my Journey West," he said, taking Arwen's elbow and leading them out of the crowd.

"You are journeying, then?" she said, taking a seat on one of the couches. "Why?"

"The Sea calls to me," he said, turning to face the western wall, striking a yearning pose. "I hear it wherever I go, and only here in this house has the call been lessened."

Arwen smiled sadly. "Why does everyone go west? I feel no call."

"You, my lady, are yet young," Daz said, taking a seat beside her. "You have not yet become weary of Middle-earth."

"How could anyone become weary of - this?" She gestured about the room, filled with laughing Elvish folk.

Daz lifted her hand again. "Believe me when I say that all joys do fade over time." He glanced across the room, and stood suddenly. "I see an old friend, my lady. If you will pardon me...?"

Arwen nodded, he kissed her hand again, briefly, and walked across the room. Watching him go, Arwen felt her heart fluttering. Her hand burned where he had kissed it.

"Could it be...?" she whispered to herself.


	6. First Kiss

Daz and Arwen stood on the porch, watching the sun set in the West.

"Do you feel any desire for...that?" Arwen asked, running her fingers over the smooth stones of the railing.

"A little yet," Daz said. "But not nearly as much as I desire to stay here."

"What made you change your mind?" Arwen asked, turning to watch his face.

"The dark eyes of a princess and her gentle words to a stranger," Daz told her, quietly, glancing away as though shy to reveal his reasons. Arwen smiled softly.

"Your words are too gracious," she said, laying her hand over his on the railing, glancing up under veiled eyes.

"No, my lady, it is you who are too gracious," he said. "The likeness of Luthien, they told me, but not even Luthien could have been more generous to me."

Then he turned to her, taking her hand in his. "My heart leaps up when I see you, Lady Arwen."

"My name is Evenstar, please to call me that, friend of mine," Arwen said, drawing closer.

"Only your friend?" Daz said, looking down at her, the late sun shining in his hair. At that moment, he was the most beautiful being Arwen had ever seen.

"More, if you would have it so, Daz," she said in a whisper.

And then their arms went around each other, and Arwen lifted her face as he bent to kiss her. The kiss was gentle, sweet, romantic. Arwen caught her breath as it ended, hearing someone calling her and footsteps along the path to the porch.

They sprang apart, and Arwen and Daz were standing, lit by the last light of the sun, looking guilty, when Elrond made his appearance on the porch. He looked from one to the other, and smiled sadly.


	7. Destiny's Circle

Arwen walked swiftly through the halls toward the voices. Her brothers, usually so adept at minding their own business, were speaking very loudly indeed at the front door, possibly to some stranger.

"How dare you come here?" That was Elladan's voice.

"You, cousin to the bastard that caused my sister pain!" Elrohir. And Arwen then knew that it must be young Legolas, son of Mirkwood's Thranduil, and yes, cousin to Daz.

What did that matter? The years had been washed away like snow in the sun, and Arwen was in love with another.

"Elrohir! Elladan!" she said, stepping out into the hall. "Stop! He is a guest under our roof, and is not responsible for Daz's actions so many years ago." They paused, looking back at her, and Elrohir made a pleading gesture toward her.

"Let him in." She spoke with command, and what could they do but obey? Elladan opened the door, and Legolas stepped through.

He looked like Daz and yet not so; the hair color was different, and there was a merrier look in his eyes. Obviously this elf was not yet world-weary.

"I am indebted to you, lady," he said, bowing graciously. "I am on a mission from my father, and intend no harm to you or your house."

"I know that," she said, extending her hand. "Be welcome. And you, my brothers, make your peace. I would not have you quarreling with any guest under our roof."

And just like that, the fight was forgotten, and Arwen put the last memory of Daz away forever.


	8. Farewell Forever

Arwen stood on the pier, watching as the ship drew up to the dock. Elrond and Celebrian were speaking softly behind her, sharing last words and promises. For the moment she was not listening to them. Beside her, Elrohir and Elladan stood, gazing at the mass of people on the shore, many of whom were leaving Middle-earth, leaving all they loved behind.

"Like mother will be," she whispered, turning. Celebrian lay on a soft couch; she was well enough to walk, but weak yet. Arwen knelt beside her.

"Mother, I can't believe it," she said. "It seems so strange, how can you bear to go and leave us behind?"

"There is healing in Valinor for me, none in Middle-earth," Celebrian said.

Silent in the shouting crowd, the small family gathered around Celebrian's couch, and said their farewells. Elrond kissed his wife gently, tears in his eyes.

And at last, attendants carried her couch up the landing ramp into the ship. Several moments went by, the shouts of farewells, weeping, some smiles, washed over Arwen and her family. Arwen looked out over the sea, trying not to look at the ship that was bearing her mother away.

And the ship slipped away at sunset, sliding gracefully down the firth as the light grew grey. Arwen watched it until it faded into the distance, a small speck on the sea.

"Father," she spoke into the silence, the ship gone, "can we go home?"

"You can," Elrond said, "but I will never be truly home until I am with her again."


	9. Starlit Farewell

Frailty of beauty, the silence of night encompasses me. I become a thing of the darkness, sliding along glimmer-white in the shadows.

"Aragorn?" I whisper, heart pounding. "Are you there?"

You slip out from behind the tree, stepping toward me. "Yes," you whisper. "Arwen."

And we embrace in the darkness, hands clutching each other like shipwrecked sailors seize floating wood.

Our silence is eloquent; we need not say words to each other, we can hear our hearts arguing the decisions we've made. Finally, silent, I step away from you.

"Go, my love," I say. You open your mouth as if to protest, I lay my fingers on your lips. "Farewell. I will see thee again, my heart tells it so."

" _Arwen vanimelda_ ," you say, and then fade to silence. " _Namarie_." And you walk away from me; I bring my hand to my lips, tasting your touch.

Slipping down the steps of Rivendell, you sit down on the lowest one and hide your head in your hands. As the others come out of the brightness of the hall, I see my father cast a sympathetic glance at you.

And I slip away myself, running with Elvish speed. I do not want to see you leave me.


	10. Morning Breaks

Why does morning _break_ , I wonder, lying here against the dew-wet grass. It seems as though the morning breaking means shattering the silence of the night with the birdsong of the day. Or opening the darkness and letting the light in, perfect blue sky above. My thoughts wander wildly this morning, turn into the canopy of sunlight fading from the stars.

I believe I will go inside now, and write a poem.

In my room, I seize a pen, and an old yellowed journal that was precious in the days of my girlhood. Pages at the end are still blank, and so I open to the back, writing swiftly:

 **Morning**

Does it break  
Shatter to pieces  
All rays of dark?  
(For darkness  
Spreadeth itself  
in rays, as does light)  
Or does it come  
softly, stealing quiet  
with a lover's whisper-  
"Come, sweet one!  
We must be up and gone!"?  
Or rather greet me  
Like an old friend  
"Good morning, dawn."


	11. Malicious Whispers

The whispers spread all too quickly through the Elvish folk. "Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Elrond, betrothed to a mortal," they said under breath, the words too shocking to be said aloud.

"Does she fancy herself a Luthien, then?" one said quietly to another.

Galadriel overheard their speech, and turned to face the whisperers. "It would be well for you if you were silent," she said. "The match I proposed to make in my day was also frowned upon." She laid her hand over her husband's and they smiled at each other.

But Arwen knew nothing of this.

Until one day, mere hours after her beloved's departure, she sat alone by the banks of a rippling stream and watched the sun dance across the water, longing for her lover.

Their talk was too loud to avoid, and though she tried not to listen, she could not help but hear.

"Betrothed to a mortal - one of our fairest! What is the world coming to?" they said, words unwittingly cutting her.

Arwen raised her head, glancing at the ring on her finger. The green gem caught the light and reflected it, so that the whispering ones could see it. They looked down across the glade, faces white. Arwen stood, silently.

"If you have words to say of me, it were better that you say them before me," she said coldly.

They stood still as stone as she walked away, frozen with horror and embarrassment.

Never again did any say a word about Arwen's betrothed..

"If you have words to say of me, it were better that you say them before me," she said coldly.

They stood still as stone as she walked away, frozen with horror and embarrassment.

Never again did any say a word about Arwen's betrothed.


	12. Narrow Escape

The small band of cavalry bounded through the pass. They had hoped to be over the Misty Mountains before stars lit up the night, but the sun was setting in the West, and they had not yet traversed the path completely.

Arwen, in the center of the group, urged her horse to further speed. Elladan, in the rear, kept an anxious watch behind them, as Elrohir looked ahead.

The enemies came without warning, rushing down from both sides, out from some hidden refuge in the caves of the mountains.

Orcs! Everywhere! To Arwen's horrified eyes, it was as if the mountain itself had burst forth upon them. She closed her eyes as the orcs drew near; her comrades gathered close around her, determined to protect their Evenstar to the last.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, power rushed over her. She reeled with the intensity of it, her eyes squeezed tight. She could sense the minds of the orcs, could feel their hate and rage, but somehow it did not touch her.

From out of the darkness behind her eyes, she spoke to them. "Begone! This is no weak elven-band that you may crush. I am the child of Luthien, descended from Maia, and you have no power against me!"

Quickly as the power had come, it deserted her, and she was left swaying. When she opened her eyes, her brothers stood beside her, supporting her.

"What did you do?" Elrohir said wonderingly. "They were advancing on us, and suddenly they faded like the dew after dawn."

"Powerful are the children of Luthien," one of their companions said, musing.

Weakness swept over Arwen suddenly. "Would that I had been here when our mother…" she could not go on.

Her brothers glanced at each other across Arwen's horse. "There were many more of them that day," Elladan said quietly.

"Come, let us leave this place," Elrohir said, remounting his horse. Arwen looked up at the fading sunset.

"If only I had been there," she whispered, and tears came to her eyes.


	13. Journey's End

The trees are bare of leaves, silent in this land, and I am alone here in this faded vastness. The places I danced years ago have fallen to the ravages of time and tears.

No one is here. And a few words from an old poem ring through my mind:.

 _"...music shall perish and voices fail  
and trees stand dumb in dell and dale..."_

Old words from the Lay of Lethian, spoken by Daeron. Truly the music of my life vanished when my Aragorn did, and my voice is silent in the dusk.

I sit silently under a tree, leaves lying thick about its base, and hide my head in my hands. "He is gone ahead of me," I whisper, "and _I_ cannot plead before the inexorable Mandos."*

Will there ever be another spring in Lorien? The elves who tended it have passed Oversea or departed for another Wood. "You and I are alike, my land of Lorien," I say. "Both of us left behind to fade while those we loved departed for fairer climes."

And, lying there alone, I enter into what seems to be a dream - my love, my Estel stands over me, and reaches out his hand. "Come with me, most beloved," he says."You were never to be left alone." Grief stings his words, and unashamedly I rise to my feet to comfort him. He takes me into his arms.

"Come with me," he says again, and I fade willingly into his embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *these words Tolkien wrote in a letter upon the death of his wife.


	14. March 25th

Her hand brushed aside a filmy curtain revealing the sunny morning, light lying soft on the grass outside.

So the world was still beautiful and fair, not dark and cold. Good still reigned, but for how much longer? She ached to find out, to know where among all the hopes and fears of the world, her beloved stood, doing his part to fight against the Darkness, even as she was doing hers.

Arwen felt her heart go quiet, searching for her beloved's life in the many sparks of the world. Her thought ranged away from her body, in the manner of ancient Elvish folk, as she sought for her Aragorn.

There!

And for a moment she could see him, sitting straight upon his horse, face intent as though he were deeply listening. His eyes strayed upward to where her black banner floated in the breeze, stars blazing. The light was dim around him, except for where the green elfstone shone through the mist.

The vision faded. Arwen sank into a chair next to the window, staring out into the morning.

Today was a day of doom. It may be, she thought, that tomorrow's dawn may never come. Her hands came up to rest upon the windowsill, the effort of peace writing itself across her features. Silent there, she waited for her fate.


	15. Journal Entry

"I feel so alone," she wrote. "All my friends are finding their mates and pairing off this spring. My dear friend Enata found her childhood love of Halrand returned today. She came to me laughing at her unwitting discovery. She had overheard a conversation about herself, in which Halrand had confessed his love for her."

Arwen laid the feathered quill down and placed her hands over her eyes, blocking out the last light of the sunset. She sighed, quietly. Was there never to be anyone who would love her, as Enata loved Halrand, as he loved her in return? Would she be ever the elf-maiden who did not marry?

She drew her hands away from her eyes and picked up the pen again.

"Is love everything?" she wrote. "Is finding a mate to be the sole goal of a elf's life, or are there other pleasures to be found? The books say that marriage is not required to be happy, but sometimes I doubt it."

She shook her head, laying down the pen.

"Sometimes this endless round of ceremonies seems so useless," she whispered to the night sky. "Since mother left, nothing has been the same."


	16. Thought

The darkness of night covers my face, and yet I can see. I stretch out my hands in the dimness, feeling power flood through my body.

I search for my love. My thought ranges out over the wide plains, yearning. On the steep trail of the mountain path I find him. The Ringbearer is with him, and the Company struggles deep through snow. Vainly I try to touch the mind of the young Elf Legolas, but fail.

My thought becomes a vision, and I see them, snow falling around them, and more snow still to come. They will never pass the mountain, not now. A ill will is bent against them, a will I have not the strength to stand against alone.

But I am a maiden of the house of Luthien, and if we fail in one thing, we attempt another. I let the mind of Gandalf touch mine, a power far greater than my own, for he is a Maia, immortal made before time began, before Middle-earth took form and substance.

"Not all wills in this storm bode ill for you, Mithrandir," I say to him.

He acknowledges my thought with a nod, and I speak on. "The mountain is angered at the power of the Ring, and fearful. I beg of you, lead the Company away, before Caradhras attempts yet another assault."

"Where else is there to go?" he says to me as his shoulders slump.

"That name both of us know," I say, for we spoke of it long when the Company was yet at Imladris.

He sighs. "Would you and your Aragorn send me to my death, lady?"

"No," I answer, suddenly seeing him clothed in white, alive and strong and powerful. "To your life, Mithrandir. To your life."

The connection snaps and I reel back, gasping. And I know that I will never see the Gandalf I once knew again. Change is come, and the worlds taste bittersweet to my tongue.


End file.
